


Hot and Heavy

by Singerdiva01



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singerdiva01/pseuds/Singerdiva01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrol comes up with a way to keep his pregnant wife happy and cool in the oppressive New Caprican heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot and Heavy

“Your timing frakking sucks, you know that?”

Galen rolled his eyes and made sure to hide his smirk before turning around to find out what he’d done this time. The more pregnant Cally got, the more of a monster of a husband he became. Or so she told him, over and over and over.

“What do you mean, dear?” He set down the piece he was working on pointedly so as not to be accused of not listening. Or caring. Or loving her anymore.

“It’s the middle of the Gods damn summer and I just happen to be the size of a frakking Leonese whale.” She puffed up a breath to clear a damp strand of hair from her field of vision and gestured angrily at her stomach. “Look at me! Do you like seeing me like this?”

Galen frowned as he translated pregnant woman into Colonial Standard. Cally’s pink sundress was soaked red with sweat from the top of her swollen breasts down. The fabric clung to the curve of her belly like a second skin, accentuating the recent pop of her belly button. Skin shining, curls falling from their ponytail and sticking to her neck, she reminded him of a fetish porno site he’d stumbled upon one time. Completely on accident, of course.

He pursed his lips, held up a finger telling her to wait one minute, and walked across the room to the shop door. He slid the ‘Closed’ sign into the slot despite the hour; it didn’t say _Galen’s_ Gift Emporium on the sign for nothing.

He could feel Cally watching him so he signaled to wait just a little longer while he detoured into the work room. Not for the first time, he was grateful President Baltar granted his request for more than their daily ration of ice to aid in setting the models. Also not for the first time, he tried not to think about why the man had granted it so eagerly.

Tools for the job in hand, he made his way back to his wife. She’d closed her eyes and laid her head back against the glass display case behind her chair. He did feel for her; she looked absolutely miserable and he had to remind himself he’d never be able to come close to understanding what it must be like to be eight months pregnant in the middle of a New Caprican heat wave.

She also looked so frakking sexy it made his balls ache. Some of that liquid on her chest had to be leaking from her milk engorged breasts and he wanted to suck one hard for a preview tasting so bad it made him shiver. The image of her gravid belly dropped low into her lap, her legs already slightly parted in deference to the weight of their coming child, had kept him up more than a few nights. And, to be honest, trying to get it down in a way that didn’t disturb her sleep.

Galen took a deep breath and willed himself under control. He once again tried to imagine what it must be like to be her and found that only made it harder. Him harder.  
Mentally, he punched himself. When the words ‘frakking asshole’ echoed in his brain, they were uttered in Cally’s voice. The mental order to continue with his mission, oddly, sounded like it came from Adama.

Cally lifted her lids slowly when he knelt in front of her, a mildly accusing expression on her face. He ignored it and his own growing erection and smiled brightly.

“I think you look absolutely stunning, Henderson, as always,” he said as he reached for the hem of her dress, “but I think you’d feel better without this.” She made a disbelieving noise but lifted her arms to allow him to peel the cotton from her skin. Once he’d dropped the drenched garment on to the floor, he reached for the towel that had been soaking in the ice and held it up for her to see.

Her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. He placed it at her neck, just under her chin, and she giggle-jumped at the sudden contrast of hot and cold. When he was sure she wasn’t about to knee him in the jewels or anything, he continued down her chest and maneuvered the cloth around each heavy breast. Once her nipples peaked, he blew on one and then the other.

He didn’t even have to look up to see if that was ok as her throaty moan and the goosebumps dotting the darkened skin spoke for her. By the time he’d bathed almost every inch of her, dipping the towel back in the ice several times to maintain the correct temperature, Cally was puddy in his hands.

“You’re a God, Chief,” she muttered, her eyes fluttering as he made another pass around her bloated belly.

He stifled a laugh -- she’d called him a lot of things over the past three months, not one something the Gods should even hear -- and paused in his ministrations to fumble around on the floor for his ace in the hole.

The titanium model was his proudest accomplishment to date in this new profession. He’d felt almost as good when it was perfected as he had when they’d taken the tarp off of the Laura.

(He’d pondered for half a second naming the masterpiece after the current president, all things considered, but discarded the idea when just thinking about it made him want to run to the head and stay there forever.)

It hadn’t been in the ice but rather chilling in the molding room, waiting for just this exact moment. He gingerly swiped it against his wife’s heavy folds then glanced up for her reaction.

It was quick and decisive.

“What the hell is that, Galen?” She narrowed her eyes and reached down to swipe it from his hands. He maintained radio silence while she inspected it from every angle. She put a finger to the head and drew it back, surprised.

“Is this your dick casted in chilled metal?”

He nodded warily and waited for violence. Or tears. Maybe a slap to the face.

Had Zeus himself appeared in a flash of light to land one across his cheek he wouldn’t have been more surprised than when his wife grinned wickedly and, in one fluid motion, slammed the whole length into the heat between her legs.

He felt his (real) cock harden even further as she started to frak herself, vigorously, with the facsimile. She was moaning and bouncing her ass up and down on the chair, oblivious for the moment to the weight of her belly and the slap of her breasts against skin timed with every thrust.

He reached for her clit to help her along but she slapped it away, muttering something that sounded like, “you’ve done enough.”

She probably meant that unkindly. It didn’t matter in the least.

He was already too busy stroking himself to the beautiful vision of his ‘about to drop’ wife frakking her own pussy with a perfect model of his dick. Knocking her head against a case full of dozens of other dicks while she did it, making the fake testicles bounce in time to her increasingly desperate screams.

When she came she wailed like a banshee and grabbed her boobs so hard milk burst out of them. His yelp was louder and higher as he squirted his release all over her leg.

That was so much better, he thought vaguely, than any preggo porn he’d ever seen.

Accidentally, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Galen's Gift Emporium is the endlessly awesome and useful creation of FragrantWoods. The 'gift' that keeps on giving!


End file.
